


To Fail

by brasspetal



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Kinda fluff, M/M, Saps, Tiny bit of Angst, between s3 and s4, silver is bad at writing letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brasspetal/pseuds/brasspetal
Summary: Silver attempts to write a love confession to Flint.





	To Fail

**Author's Note:**

> This is light-hearted (probably one of the lightest things I’ve written). Takes place between S3-S4 when they are at the maroon camp
> 
> Prompt given to me by @ellelan: “I tried my best to not feel anything for you. Guess what? I failed.”

The quill could snap between his fingers like a bone if he lets it. He can press until the ink bled into his fingers, staining the palms of his hands. He’d have all the words he can never fit onto parchment marking his skin.

He wasn’t any good at letters or poetry of any fashion. He’s attempted it and couldn’t stop laughing at himself. He had thrown himself into a fit of manic depression afterward that would be blamed on this bout of madness. Why exactly was he attempting to write James Flint a letter when the man resides a few quarters down from his?

Their training sessions had ended abruptly a week ago when Silver had pressed his mouth to Flint’s. He hadn’t known what to expect but the anger he received was not it. Flint had been furious with him as if this was a form of manipulation, a tactic to gain an advantage over the lessons. Perhaps, Silver could be that petty but not with this, not with him.

Although, that sounds too noble. He, of course, thought it would be a distraction but a distraction for them both. From the heat, from the future. He didn’t expect anything but a small reprieve.

That wasn’t true either though. He always expects things from Flint, more with each day. Another glance his way, a possible smile given to him that he can claim. A tired story about myths conjured out of the sea. Silver wanted to read to him, he wanted to hear what he thought of his musing. Where had that come from? What had any of this come from?

Flint had said:  _‘I let you crawl around in my skull’_  almost with a snarl to match.

The crawling was the easy part, Flint had let him into all those dark spaces and he had thought he’d make a small home there but he hadn’t let Flint into all those spaces of his own mind. He hadn’t.

He writes uselessly with the drying ink:  _‘You miserable fuck’_

See…he’s not much of a poet. Although, Silver thinks that is addressed more to himself than it is to Flint. He was a miserable fuck. He didn’t allow anyone to examine his history. It was already made by someone else’s hand why mar the sunlight by collapsing it into the space between them.

He’d imagine Flint sifting through the pile of rubbish that is his past and he’d examine each groove as if it’s something worthy to note.

He scratches out the words messily and dips the pen in ink once again. He writes:  _‘I’m sorry’_

But that wasn’t true either. He wasn’t sorry for attempting to push their dance a little further. He wants to do it again, so that wouldn’t make him sorry. He scribbles out the words, almost tearing the page with the force of it. He writes:  _‘Fuck off’_  three times in a row and then gently pushes the parchment aside for a new one.

This time he pours himself onto the page, the pen scribbling furiously and scratching out his thoughts, plucking them forward for Flint to read and examine like that twisted iron wreckage of the cage his heart waits in.

He reaches the edge of the parchment and tosses the pen angrily before folding the page. The ink may not have dried properly, but he didn’t wish to reread it. He didn’t need to see it, he just required Flint to.

He spends the better part of an hour pacing around his cot, wobbling on his crutch and mumbling to himself like a gibbering drunk. He’s lost his goddamn mind.

He gathers up the pages after spending far too much time in his head and folds them neatly along the creases. Hadn’t he already folded the page?

He thought about addressing it to  _‘James’_  but decided not to address it at all. Formalities were never his strong suit. He stalks across the camp, as much stalking his crutch will allow him to do and reaches the open door of Flint’s sleeping quarters. He knocks once on the doorway and steps inside without much announcement. Flint is reading by candlelight on his cot and sits up bewildered by his appearance.  Silver watches the moment Flint remembers he’s supposed to be angry and he shuts the book loudly to punctuate it.

“What do you want?” He coolly asks.

“I wrote you a letter.” Silver replies and Flint squints at him with suspicious confusion.

“A letter? Whatever for?”

Silver holds it out to him and states, “If I am to stand here and explain it to you then the whole point of this fucking letter would be void, would it not?”

Flint sighs and stands, padding over to him barefoot. Silver surmises he is the only one that can appear sleepy and enraged all at once.  He rips it from Silver’s fingers and unfolds it with indifference.

Silver, however, is slowly regretting his decision and is tempted to limp down to the beach and let the waves carry him away. He observes Flint’s expression as his eyes glide over the parchment as if they are examining Silver’s heart and the look of utter confusion he presents him sinks any growing expectations.

“It says ‘fuck off’ three times…” Flint relays, creasing his brow.

“Jesus Christ…” Silver breathes with stalk-still horror. He had given him the wrong letter.

Flint eyes the page some more as if such a thing were fascinating and continues, “What exactly is this?”

Silver grabs it from his grasp and tears the parchment in two by the effort of it.

“Couldn’t you have told me this, Mr. Silver?” Flint questions and he still appears more confused than angry.

“It wasn’t…I wrote a different letter. I gave..you the wrong one.” Silver replies with the wave of his hand, towards the shredded pieces of what he suspects are now his dignity.

Flint hums and then slowly breaks into a low rumbled chuckle. He was laughing at him.

“I’m so very glad you find it so fucking amusing.” Silver snaps.

“What did the original say?” Flint asks and he’s trying to hide the laughter behind his words.

The original letter was a scribbled mess of thoughts that he is exceptionally glad didn’t reach Flint’s eyes.  

“About our last training session…” Silver begins and Flint’s small smile immediately fades from his face.

“I think we’re done here, Mr. Silver. If you can kindly see yourself out. I have a busy day ahead.” Flint replies coldly. He was well practiced with shutting people out, Silver recognizes the disconcerting likeness between them. Such as when chaos meets chaos, it never balances. There is always a scramble to retrieve normalcy but neither of them will ever achieve it between them.

Flint is glaring at him and soon would come the insults, Silver realizes this.

He blurts, “I tried my best to not feel anything for you. Guess what? I failed.”

It wasn’t the chaotic scribble of his letter or the attempt at pulling something free from his heart. It just was. He failed.

Flint’s expression evolves into something resembling fear as if Silver had presented him with a ship killer and perhaps he did.

They stand there in equal heavy silence before Silver finally takes his leave. His thoughts suddenly bursting at the lively busy camp in front of him. The laughter of a far-off conversation grates on his nerves and he limps slowly away from any prying eyes. He finds a secluded spot by the murky lake and dares not lean to view his reflection. He stopped looking at reflective surfaces long ago, for that is the true abyss. 

He hears from behind him, “I thought it was a manipulation.”

Silver startles and turns to see Flint, barefoot still and standing in the line of sunlight cradling the lake.

“It wasn’t.” Is all Silver manages.

“I thought after I told you of my past that you were trying to use it against me, to your advantage.” Flint continues and Silver shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t do that…” Silver replies and at least he hopes he wouldn’t do that.

“Tell me why then.” Flint commands and Silver’s lips break out into a bitter grin.

“I believe I already stated how I felt a moment ago. I won’t be repeating it.” Silver replies and he feels as though his chest could open up to shrivel his heart.

Flint walks closer, cringing when he steps on a bundle of acorns. The bitterness in Silver’s expression evolves into hidden adoration.

“I also failed,” Flint replies and Silver’s heart thuds loudly like a drum. The hopeful stillness and quiet chirping of birds is the only background noise.

“How did you fail?” Silver questions and tries to keep the growing hope out of his expression.

Flint sighs in frustration, “You’ve made me into a fool.”

Silver shrugs and grimaces when the throbbing familiar pain wraps around his thigh like a vise.

“Perhaps, you already were one, Captain.” Silver supplies and Flint closes the small distance between the bright dancing light.

Silver’s face breaks into a grin when he notices Flint’s sharp intake of breath, another small acorn patch has been thwarted by Flint’s bare feet. His small rumble of laughter is stolen from him when Flint presses his lips to his.

Silver can’t help but think in inconsistencies, the threading of time and the light as a guiding form between them but one thing is certain, John Silver will never attempt to write another letter again.


End file.
